only a fairytale

my eyes open slowly.

my bedroom is full of sunlight, 

highlighting the hay yellow paint.

the comforter hugs me gently.

a day like most days.

i rise to the smell of bacon,

and his voice next to my mother’s.

walking quietly down the stairs, 

tiptoeing in my own house.

afraid to ruin a good thing.

i ease into the living room, turning slowly into the kitchen.

both of them are standing in front of the stove,

pans full of breakfast meats and eggs.

my father looks at me and smiles.

“good morning,” he says to me.

he looks happy.

almost euphoric.

my mother wraps her arms around me,

singing whatever song got stuck in her head.

the chronic squeezing in my chest isn’t there,

as if simple words and looks could fix it.

my sister sits down on the couch.

i lay down slowly, giving her the space she needs.

she’s never been touchy.

my thing, not hers.

i know she loves me.

it’s never been too big of a deal.

“can i have a hug?”, she asks me.

i put my arms around her neck 

and squeeze her tightly.

my head rests on her shoulder.

“don’t let go”, i think to myself.

“just a little longer.”

she only lets go when i pull away.

what world did i wake up in?

my brother comes down the stairs quickly.

“do you want to play piano and we can sing?” he requests.

we sing for hours until we feel we’ve mastered the song.

my grandparents walk through the front door.

they’re holding two bags of our favorite bagels,

a tray full of cups of mocha.

we sit around the dining table, each of us grinning.

i poke at strawberries on my plate.

they’ve always been my favorite.

i look around in a state of awe.

why can’t things be like this all the time?

everything sweet and everyone at the table.

but no matter how nice of a concept, it’s

not real.

it’s all a fairytale.